


Lazy Morning

by MissMaple41



Series: Standard Deviation Verse [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, John is a caring daddy, M/M, bed wetting, nappies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 08:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4172280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMaple41/pseuds/MissMaple41
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock accidentally wets the bed. John helps him deal with the aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lazy Morning

**Author's Note:**

> No sex in this one - just some h/c. Hopefully more to come (sequels?).

The bed is warm and comfortable, and so is Sherlock. The wine he had last night can't possibly still be affecting him, but that is what it feels like; as though the expensive champagne is still running through his veins, making him feel calm and soft on the inside. In reality, it's probably a combination of the early hour, the post-case satisfaction, and the fact that John has gotten into bed with him – John, who wasn't there when Sherlock fell asleep. John, who had to work late, and missed out on all the good wine Sherlock had gotten as a thank you for solving the case. John hadn't particularly seemed to mind, though, about the wine. Sherlock had texted him about it before he went to bed, knowing that John would otherwise be hesitant to crawl down with him.

When Sherlock hasn't had any wine, he's a terribly light sleeper. It's better when John tucks him in at night – he's almost slept normally ever since John started tucking him into bed, perhaps thanks to the presence of the man himself, or perhaps thanks to the nappies. Either way, when John works late, Sherlock usually stays up and waits. Not so this night, and he's glad for the fact, because he's certain that he wouldn't feel half so pleased about waking up to John's presence if he had.

As is now, he shuffles over to wrap an arm around John's chest, without putting much thought into it. He's still halfway asleep, and he intends to drift right back under, any moment now. He just needs to be close to John first. Really, what he'd like the most would be if John could hold him properly, but he doesn't want to wake the man up. Daddy, some part of his mind helpfully puts forward, and Sherlock accepts the word with a soft sigh. Yes. Daddy. He just wants to be close to his Daddy.

Settling his chin on Daddy's shoulder is good enough, he decides, taking a deep breath in full of John's scent. How much he'd miss John if he was gone, he thinks, but then he doesn't think about that at all any longer. Rather, he thinks about sleep. He's comfortable, he's settled down, and when he shifts his hips, there's just one thing missing – the warm, wet, freshly used nappy he usually wakes up in. Closing his eyes, already drifting back off to sleep again, he simply lets go of his bladder to fix that. Now, everything's perfect...

For approximately five seconds. That's how long it takes Sherlock to realise that he isn't actually wearing a nappy. It is with some confusion that he feels the urine trickle right through his underwear and his pajama trousers, out into the sheets and against John’s thigh, and yet, he can't seem to stop going. By the time he's finished, he's fully awake, and his heart is beating hard in his chest. He isn't quite sure what he's supposed to do or feel, and he can't quite wrap his mind around what just happened.

He wet himself. Completely and utterly. Without meaning to. He could've easily held it, had he only had the presence of mind to remember that he hadn't padded himself, that he never pads himself in John's absence, or if he'd only realised that the lack of a comforting weight around his hips had less to do with being dry, and more to do with being completely without a nappy. Worst of all – John is going to know. They are still practically pressed up against each other, and Sherlock is certain that his puddle has spread across the sheet. At least, he thinks, John's put down the rubber sheets underneath it. At least he hasn't ruined their mattress.

It's several terrifying moments before John so much as stirs. Sherlock's heart doesn't stop racing, not until he hears John's voice, still full of sleep, murmur softly, “Well, it was only a matter of time until this happened, wasn't it?”

At that, Sherlock feels primarily relief. Having had a moment to catch up with his mind, he realizes just how small and helpless this has made him feel, how at John’s mercy. In response, he reaches up, all but clinging to John, uncertain what to say. He wants to explain, and he knows he ought to apologise, but the words aren't there at the moment, and no matter how hard he tries, he can't quite seem to summon them. He did this on purpose, after all. He wet himself on purpose.

“I just forgot,” he tries, finding his words rather small and weak compared to the usual manner he has of spitting out what he wants to say. “I'm sorry, I...”

He trails off as John shifts, turning on the light next to the bed and lifting the comforter off of them. The comforter... At least the comforter is dry. What's underneath it, however, isn't. Sherlock swallows as he looks down, and despite feeling so vulnerable, he’s impressed by the sheer size of the stain. It's spread out wide, underneath both of their hips, and it goes well below their knees. Sherlock winces. John's hand finds Sherlock's and squeezes it gently.

“It's all fine, alright? Don't worry about it.”

Sherlock swallows, attempting to do just that. What was it that John had said? It had only been a matter of time. This is something he'd planned for, isn't it? That was why John had, originally, put in the plastic sheet. And yet... Sherlock shakes his head, still sat in the puddle, even as he can feel it starting to cool. Glancing across at John, he still feels at a loss for words. For the first time since they started their relationship, he isn’t quite sure how to handle it.

John, seemingly able to pick up on that, gives Sherlock hand another squeeze before he lets go and gets out of bed.

“It's all fine, yeah?” he says, seemingly not very bothered to have been awoken in such a fashion. “We'll get cleaned up, do the laundry, and then we'll go right back to bed. How's that sound?”

Seeing the logic in John's words, Sherlock nods. It isn't until John takes him by the hand to lead him into the bathroom that he realises that, not only does Sherlock feel strange about something, for once; John is still adjusting very well to the situation at hand. More caring, perhaps. More... paternal. What with how uncertain of himself Sherlock feels, John's response is perfect. It's just what he needs now, because he truly did lose control this time; perhaps not so much of his body as of his mind. It's fine, he reminds himself; John has him. This was John's plan all along.

By the time they've made it to the bathroom, Sherlock feels a little bit better. The fact that he's left a wet trail behind on the floor seems like less of a big deal because John has done the same, so he doesn't let it bother him as he steps into the tub. John is still holding his hand as he sits down, still wearing his own dampened underwear.

“You alright?” John asks him, and Sherlock nods. He doesn't know what else to do; there's no way John can expect him to explain how he feels.

“I'm sorry I made a mess of you,” he tries, voice low. He lets go of John's hand in order to reach for the shower head, leaning forward to be able to start the flow of the water. While he busies himself there, John gets in the tub behind him, standing above him.

“It's not like I haven't made a mess of you before,” John muses, plucking the showerhead right out of Sherlock's hand, to let the warm water wash down over them both. Sherlock glances up at him, watches as John wets his hair. Thoughtfully, he reaches up to touch John's cock. The man barely spares him a glance, only fixes the shower back in its holder so that he can reach for the soap.

“Wait,” Sherlock says, making him freeze mid-motion. “Aren’t you going to punish me?”

John frowns, so Sherlock elaborates.

“I was naughty,” Sherlock explains, perhaps a bit lamely. He only wants the reassurance that nothing bad will come of this later, when he’s feeling well again, and John doesn’t have to be so understanding. 

“No,” John replies, finally, pushing his soaked boxers down into the tub. “You had an accident. We don’t have a rule against accidents.”

Fair enough, Sherlock supposes, and that helps him feel calmer too. The gentle way in which his pajamas is removed is reassuring, and it’s good that he can simply allow it to happen. He remains silent as John cleans them both up, soaping them for what feels like ages, and takes advantage of the fact that he isn’t expected to help. By the time the last suds disappear down the drain, so has Sherlock’s worries. John had planned for this, and if Sherlock is only a bit more mindful, this won’t happen again. Unless he wants it to, this won’t happen again – and if he does want it again, that’s fine, too. 

Sherlock looks up as John steps out of the tub, giving him a calm smile. It’s still too early in the morning for John to look anything but tired in return, but that’s fine. There’s still the sheets to deal with, after all, and that would be tiring for anyone to think about at six on a Saturday. 

“Go do your big boy toilet so I can pad you up,” John tells him as he passes him a towel. “You obviously can’t be trusted to sleep without any more.” There’s a light note in his voice, filling Sherlock with a delightful sense of shame. He knows that John’s trust in him hasn’t actually taken any damage, so he can safely play along. Drying out his hair, Sherlock nods with a little smile, and John disappears out into the bathroom with a smile of his own, Sherlock is sure. 

Half an hour later, the sheets are in the wash and they’ve relocated to Sherlock’s bed, which has lately been a place mostly for boredom and case work. Sherlock’s got a fresh nappy on, John’s arms around him, and isn’t asleep just yet. He tries to hover in that in-between state for as long as he can, making the most of the warmth and affection he’s getting. It’s worth the worry he felt before, this closeness he’s getting now, and it makes him love John even more. He knew the man is good in a crisis, of course, but not that he’s so good even when the crisis is private, and of a not-medical sort, and perhaps a little set up in advance, by circumstance and by the doctor himself. John is, in any situation, to be entirely relied upon. Perhaps that is why Sherlock agreed to stay in his nappy the whole of the upcoming day; perhaps in part that, and in part his own excitement at taking the next step on their journey.


End file.
